

The Return of I 
Arthur I 





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The RETURN OF ARTHUR 



The Return of 
Arthur 



by 

IRVINE GRAFF 




1922 

THE STRATFORD CO., Publishers 

Boston, Massachusetts 






Copyright, 1922 

The STRATFORD CO., Publishers 

Boston, Mass. 



The Alpine Press, Boston, Mass., U. S. A. 



OCT-?'^c' 

^C1A683732 



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lori i^itrljener anb W baliant "JHob" 



Foreword 

All manner of fascinating legends cluster 
about the name of Arthur, the Celtic hero of 
far-off days, who made forever memorable a 
comer of England which is now Cornwall, but 
which in early history formed a part of Wales. 
It was while I was a child that the legend 
concerning Arthur's return fired my imagina- 
tion so that it straightway set forth on a quest 
which was destined to continue for years. With 
my enthusiasm kindled by the inscription on 
Arthur's tomb at Glastonbury: '^Hic jacet 
Arturus rex quondam rexque futurus/' I 
searched the pages of English history from 
Arthur's day to our own, but I failed to discover 
the individual who fulfilled my conception of the 
King. 

Eventually the idea developed that in my 
own day Arthur might return. There was noth- 
ing definite about this at first; it signified 
rather a groping into the future for the final 
act of an unfinished drama of the past. 



FOREWORD 

The Great War, instead of giving new im- 
pulse to my quest for Arthur, blotted him for 
the time from my mind. Yet in England 
where my friend and I chanced to be in 
August, that agonizing August, of 1914, as 
the tumultuous weeks passed, one of the most 
incredible things to witness at this altogether 
incredible time was the organization, or rather 
the creation of Kitchener's "Mob," an army 
tumbled together with magical swiftness from 
every comer of England, an army unversed in 
everything military save honor and splendor of 
spirit, — the scorn of super-drilled German 
divisions, the salvation of a reeling world. It 
was Kitchener, ''the master personality of his 
time," who called this army into being. Yet it 
was not until long after Kitchener 's tragic death 
that revelation flashed blindingly upon me. 

"The Return of Arthur" marks the end of 
my quest. However unworthy, the poem is 
designed as a tribute from an American to 
England. 

Irvine Qraff, 
July 28, 1922. 



Arturus rex quondam rexque futurus.*' 



I. 



My home 's in Cornwall. That 's the place for me ! 
No other spot in England equals it. 
Cornwall comes first ; my second love — the sea. 
My mother thought I 'd find home dull a bit ; 
So, even though she had the fire all lit, 
She gave a little cry when I walked in, 
Thinking, of my two loves, the sea would surely 
win. 

I flung my cap onto the window-seat, 
Then waltzed my little mother up and down 
Until she begged me to be more discreet. 
Through all her quivering joy she tried to frown 
And light-heartedly I was forced to drown 
Her protests with a smothering kiss, and so 
Knocked her lace cap awry and set her pale 
cheeks aglow. 

[I] 



THE RETURN OF ARTHUR 

''Mother, I've come home," I cried, "home to 

play 
With you for two whole weeks — to play — to 

dream ! 
London's concreteness is too far away 
To touch the ma^c of all this. I seem 
To live again. You'll give me Cornish cream 
For tea ! And then, no matter what we do. 
There'll be the two of us together — just us 

two." 

A wistful look crept in my mother's eyes. 
I knew the cause of it and turned her face 
To meet my own. How gentle and how wise 
Was that dear face, touched now with love 's own 

grace 
Beneath the little filmy cap of lace ! 
She returned my look with a trembling smile 
And said her loneliness was gone now — for a 

while. 

"I'd thought, dear boy, it might be you would 

spend 
Your holidays upon some roaming ship." 
" No ; I came home, to be home till the end. 
It 's true — this morning, early, I did slip 

[2] 



THE RETURN OF ARTHUR 

Down to the docks, and I tasted on my lip 
The salt of the sea and a wild desire 
Tugged at my breast — till I felt you waiting 
by the fire ! 

' * I came home then ; and oh, I 'm glad I came ! 
All days are happy days when spent with you. 
And hunting legends is a great old game — 
Perhaps I '11 find some that I never knew. ' ' 
' ' To Cornish legends, Peter, you prove true ! 
Because they never leave you fancy free, 
I'm jealous of King Arthur as well as of the 
sea. ' ' 

' ' Absurd ! " I cried. ' ' And yet my fancy dwells 
Upon the King's return. As a boy, I swore 
That he'd come back, but reason now rebels 
When I think of him as he lived before. 
He'd prove no help to England now — in war. 
He'd hold, like some holy wistful wraith. 
As weapons — antiquated chivalry and faith. 

"Beautiful, these,— but of what earthly use 
In a contest that this century could bring? — 
Abominable weapons and abuse 
Beyond all horror of imagining. 
Romantic war no longer is the thing." 

[3] 



THE RETURN OF ARTHUR 

*'What right have you to talk of war — what 

right r' 
''I do not say it's coming, Mother, — hut it 

might. 

' ' Then he will come, — to Britain in her need. 
When that dread hour strikes, he'll face her 

foes! 
King not perhaps in name, but one in deed; 
A ruling will that no one dare oppose. 
'Rex futurus' — so our old legend goes; 
But King of peaceful England one short hour, 
Or King of an empire's future? "What greater 

power ! 

''I know my mind's mixed up with Tennyson 

And Malory, and lots of others, too ; 

But I've evolved a version which has won 

My credence more than these ; which, to be true, 

Must even desecrate traditions you 

And I have loved from childhood, heritage 

Of centuries, with Cornwall the glorious stage. 

''The legend that is hardest to unlearn 
Concerns King Arthur and his knights asleep, 
Waiting the destined hour of their return, 
Within some cavern's dark and gloomy keep, 

[4] 



THE RETURN OF ARTHUR 

While strange charmed dreams beguile their 

slumber deep. 
I used to think that I should be the one 
To find the King and lead him forth to greet the 

sun! 

*'So when a tiny boy, with thirsting zeal, 
I probed the caves about us, near and far. 
You remember, Mother! How you did appeal 
To me to learn to take things as they are 
And not to hitch my wagon to a star 
Of fancy that caused my active brain to teem 
With the full-panoplied heroes of a gorgeous 
dream. 

''But now I know that thus he'll not appear. 
Reincarnated, evolutionized, 
Intensively experienced, without fear 
He'll meet the hour's issues, jeopardized 
Though they are by a nation overcivilized 
To the point where polish must soon give way 
And elemental, brutal passions hold full sway. ' ' 

' ' How, Peter, you do talk ! ' ' my mother cried. 
' ' It makes me shiver when you say such things ; 
For I recall the night your father died — 
He told me then to clip your fancy's wings. 

[5] 



THE RETURN OF ARTHUR 

Now, college has but spurred your wild imagin- 
ings!" 
* ' The psychology of nations I learned there, 
It 's true ; but that I should have picked up any- 
where. ' ' 



II. 



One afternoon soon after this I strayed 

Quite far from home. The sea-gulls called. I 

heard 
Hushed Avind-notes shaken from the grass; they 

made 
A wistful little symphony, softly slurred. 
All else was still. — A tense excitement stirred 
My heart to quicker action when I found 
The path led upward to an unfamiliar mound. 

Beneath, I saw the entrance to a cave. 
How had I missed it during all the zest 
Of boyhood explorations? My mind gave 
One leap and bridged the years between. The 

best 
Of me was boy again ! I longed to test 
The legend of King Arthur's age-long sleep. 
Would he he there — in sweet oblivion buried 

deep? 

[6] 



THE RETURN OF ARTHUR 

Eagerly I scrambled down — then swiftly 

stopped. 
Just at the entrance to the cave I found 
A stranger, and I gazed as if he'd dropped 
From heaven, or had sprung from beneath the 

ground, 
Or perhaps — what a wild thought to confound 
One 's very senses ! — had emerged just then 
From age-long dusky shadows into the world 

again. 

He had not seen me yet. In the bright glare 
Of shadeless sun he stood there, strong and wise, 
A striking figure, tall, erect, and spare, 
With noble brow and piercing bright blue eyes 
Set far apart. These eyes without surprise 
Now looked at me. I felt the strength and 

charm 
Of a potent personality. He raised his arm. 

With a sweeping gesture he signified 
The lone world near us and the distant sea. 
''Just look at that! Just breathe this air!" he 

cried. 
With a flash of humor he turned to me. 
' ' I stole a holiday ! And now I 'm free 

[7] 



THE RETURN OF ARTHUR 

For a whole long afternoon. Chance brought me 

here; 
I left the coach and walked this way. Do you 

live near ? ' ' 

Thrilled by the interest in his kindly tone 

I stammered forth my little tale of life 

Begun right there in Cornwall; how I'd grown 

Familiar, as a child, with places rife 

With Arthur 's exploits ; how in peace and strife 

I pictured all the pageantry of court 

And tourney. Silently he heard my long report. 

I could not leave out Arthur from my tale ! 
Then when I found how keen he was to learn 
All that I had to say, I did not fail 
To tell the legend of the King's return. 
I knew that he was able to discern 
How real to me were those time-honored themes ; 
He said that he had not outgrown his love of 
dreams. 

So legends of all kinds he loved to hear, 
And specially those of Celtic origin. 
Emboldened, I went further; without fear 
Of ridicule I told him that within 
A nearby cave I 'd some day hoped to win 

[8] 



THE RETUBN OF ARTHUR 

My boyhood's goal and jSind — myself! — the 

King. 
He did not laugh even at this fantastic thing. 

I said I'd never found this cave before, 
And for one breathless moment I had thought 
Myself a boy again ; then, to explore 
Its depths, the entrance I had madly sought — 
Had seen a stranger standing there and, caught 
By a whirling notion, had fancied him 
To be the King! Both of us laughed at this 
strange whim. 

''A tale is told by one old dame nearby 
That Arthur's second coming is in doubt 
Because tradition has it he will die 
At sea; and all of Fairyland, devout 
In fealty to the King, is crying out 
It will not let him go — his final grave 
Would be beyond their reach, unmarked beneath 
a wave." 

At this point I attempted to unfold 
My latest theory of the myth's true scope. 
He listened keenly, then stood up. Big-souled 
Was the smile he gave me. ^'Boy," he said, "I 
hope 

[9] 



THE EETURN OF ARTHUR 

We meet again. — Dreams enable us to cope 
With harsh realities, and so — dream on ! 
My name is Kitchener. ' ' — He turned, waved his 
hand — was gone. 

III. 

Months passed, when threads of war were being 

spun, . . 
Impressions of that hour did not abate — 
My hour with Kitchener, Britain's wonder-son. 
Australia, India, Egypt knew him. Fate 
Had him on her training-ship. When hate 
Lashed waves of fury westward to o'erwhelm 
An empire's glory, steadily he held the helm. 

No longer did I dream, for now I knew ! 
I had found Arthur by the Cornish sea. 
Yes, this was Arthur, — to tradition true. 
Yet product of this century, — trustee 
Of Britain's greatness. It was Fate's decree 
That he should come again to meet the hour 
When England stood sore in need of his kingly 
power. 

On August seven Kitchener advertized 
For a hundred thousand men. His behest 



THE RETURN OF ARTHUR 

Was brief: ''Your King and Country Need 

You." Prized 
No more was worldly rank ; his rank was best 
Whose standard was the highest in the test 
Of manhood. Shortly, with a great heart-throb, 
England witnessed the creation of "Kitchener's 

Mob." 

Not knights of the Round Table, these, and yet 
In beautiful truth their modern counterparts. 
For tournament a trench, where they have met 
The last great challenge with as loyal hearts 
As Arthur's knights of old. Prowess imparts 
The patent of nobility to all. 
Clerks might have had their accolade in Arthur's 
hall. 

Each soldier of that gallant Mob received 
A message, not unlike the charge a knight 
Was given by Arthur ; things to be achieved 
Concerned honor and women and the might 
Of personal conquest — not alone the right 
To conquer foes. Lastly — sternlj^ challeng- 
ing— 
' ' Do your duty bravely. 
Fear God, 

Honor the King." 



THE RETURN OF ARTHUR 

I might have made one in that Mob had not 
The sea more loudly called. I volunteered 
For duty there and all went well. My lot 
Fell to the battle-cruiser Hampshire. Fate 

steered 
My course, and eventually commandeered 
My very dreams. One day I heard at drill 
Lord Kitchener was on board. I felt a boyish 

thrill. 

It was the fifth of June, nineteen-sixteen. 
When from a northern Scottish port we steamed 
And ran into a violent gale. Between 
The hours of five and six it almost seemed 
As if no boat could live. The tempest screamed, 
Demented; with insensate fury it lashed 
The sea to foaming madness; winds and wild 
waves clashed. 

Our convoy was sent back, while we pushed on. 
We had not been told our destination. 
I was content in this vast game to be a pawn. 
But grimly I hoped — for the salvation 
Of Britain 's plans — that the computation 
Concerning Kitchener's safety was made out 
So that not the shadow of a turn was left in 
doubt. 

[12] 



THE RETURN OF ARTHUR 

They did not know who Kitchener was! Of 

course 
They reverenced his fame, and were aware 
Of his power; but, had they known, the whole 

force 
Of our great empire — land and sea and air — 
Would have been requisitioned to prepare 
The means for absolute security. 
I could not voice my view — they would but 

scoff at me ! 

No, they did not know ; it was only I. 
I once had tried to tell it to a chum, 
A boy I'd known at college. He called me 

''Guy" 
Good-naturedly, and said, ''What rot!" He'd 

come 
From Manchester. A boy from there 'd be numb 
To legends quickening my Cornish heart. 
Forming of my inner self an integral part. 

Never again would I expose my dream! 
I hugged it close — and found it grew more real. 
Each act of Kitchener's made his whole life seem 
An answer to that promise to reveal 

[13] 



THE RETURN OF ARTHUR 

The future Arthur when time made appeal. 
The time had come ; brilliantly was fulfilled 
The forecast that events should march as Arthur 
willed. 

Footsteps were coming towards me, and they 

sent 
Hot blood through my veins in a surging tide. 
One of the figures paused. ''Why, Peter 

Ghent!" 
A hand fell on my shoulder. "This," he cried, 
' ' Is the dreamer lad of Cornwall, my guide 
Into the lovely realm of Celtic lore! 
You told me more than I had ever known before. 

"Then, too, you had a theory — Ah, now I 

bring 
It to mind." With droll humor Kitchener 

smiled. 
"When I saw you, you were looking for the 

King 
Of legendary greatness, reconciled 
To sleeping in a cave until, beguiled 
By time's necessity, he should again 
Assume a leading role in the affairs of men. 



THE RETURN OF ARTHUR 

* * For a moment — do you remember ? — you 
Took me for the King!" Kitchener laughed 

outright, 
And I blushed furiously red. "It's true," 
I stammered, and I longed with all my might 
To tell him I still thought so, that to-night 
Nothing could convince me he was not the King. 
But my thoughts died away into vague murmur- 
ing. 

He sobered. "Boy," he said, "it's good to 
dream." 

A wistful shadow clouded his blue eyes. 

"Life else were very bitter in the scheme 

Of present things." Again a smile, — so wise. 

So sweet, so strong, so kind! — "Don't under- 
prize 

The gift — but sometimes forge dreams into 
facts. 

In this brave way can dreams be justified by 
acts. ' ' 



IV. 



A fearful terror clutched me by the throat,- 
Presentiment of danger. The storm's hate 

[15] 



THE RETURN OF ARTHUR 

Increased. If things went wrong, I thought, no 

boat 
Could live in such a sea. What precious freight 
We carried ! Who on board could estimate 
Its worth ? . . . There came a rending, deafening 

blast. 
The ship reeled from a mortal wound. Snarling 

waves rushed past. 

There was no confusion. Each knew his place, 
And the discipline was excellent. Men 
Rushed to the boats ; these were lowered apace — 
And crashed into kindling. Now and again 
The ship lurched like a living thing and then 
Gave a groan of agony. Baring white fangs, 
The sea danced round its victim, watching its 
death-pangs. 

What caused the explosion, I do not know. 

Perhaps we struck a mine. Vividly clear 

Is the memory of Kitchener, although 

All things then seemed blurred. I saw him 

appear 
From the captain's cabin; showing no fear, 
He mounted to the quarter deck. A friend, 
A staff-officer, was with him. Then came the end. 

[i6] 



THE EETURN OF ARTHUR 

There was no chance, because the boats were 

wrecked. 
Three rafts were launched, but who could tell 

their fate? 
Eight bells struck ^ — this I dimly recollect. 
Then a pain of passionate protest ate 
Its way into my heart. Was it too late 
To save Kitchener? The ship was sinking 

fast . . . 
Nothing could be done — I accepted this at last. 

In agony of spirit I raised my head 
And saw Kitchener. I loved him with a love 
Verging on idolatry. Enough is said . . . 
He looked down at me from the deck above 
And gave me his smile. At once, like a dove 
Folding her wings, peace nestled in my soul. 
I answered his salute with steadfast self-control. 

Black waters engulfed me and I soon lost 
Consciousness. When I found myself again 
I was on a raft which was being tossed 
Drunkenly about but stayed afloat. When 
I struggled to get up, with oaths the men 
Knocked me down and said that I must not stir ; 
There was one too many on that raft, as things 
were. 

[17] 



THE RETURN OF ARTHUR 

I lay still a bit, with my mind a blank. 
Then recollection, like a surging tide. 
Came sweeping full upon me. ' ' The ship sank ? ' ' 
I asked. Some one nodded. ' ' I saw her glide 
And take a header — well, at the outside. 
Say fifteen minutes after she was struck. — 
But we '11 live through this, if we keep on having 
luck." 

' ' What time is it ?' ' There was still a little light. 
But I thought each minute had been a year. 
For I felt queerly old. "If I 'm right, 
It must be almost nine." "D'you think land's 

near?" 
"The Orkneys aren't far — but too far from 

here." 
I felt queer again, — queer and sick and blind. 
I waited for a distant thought to reach my mind. 

It came ; though blurred, sharply it was defined. 
' ' The King ! " I gasped, ' ' Where is the King ? ' ' 

They turned 
To look at me. One grinned. "I hope he dined 
At Buckingham. His Majesty's always spurned 
A raft in a gale at sea." I discerned, 

[i8] 



THE RETURN OF ARTHUR 

Through burning misery, my unwitting slip. 
^'Kitchener, you mean? Lord Kitchener went 
down with the ship." 

I had been rescued, but my King was dead. 
What could life hold ? — Then I recalled his smile, 
And knew that it would light all life ahead . . . 
King Arthur had returned for a little while 
And now had passed at sea. In the quaint style 
Of the legend : ' ' Unmarked must be his grave ; ' ' 
But, in spite of Fairies, he had come — in time 
to save. 



[19] 



